Time Falls Back
by clocks-and-cages
Summary: A random finale oneshot from the perspective of one of the finalists. Rated T for some violence and, obviously, the concept of the Games themselves.


**(DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Hunger Games.)**

My internal clock ticks backward.

Time passes at a steady pace but the hoursfall away all too quickly, winding back and back and back. In the Games, everyone counts backward. No one truly knows how much time they have left until the fatal blow is stuck. Every breath is a part of the countdown, every heartbeat numbered. Nothing ever seems certain. Not until the end.

The finale is no exception. The stone is slick and uncertain beneath my feet, foam and waves flooding over the surface every other second while the wind and rain assault me from all sides. It seems the storm is trying to make me a part of it, roaring in my ears and driving into my skin. All around us, the sea rises and falls, pulsing beneath the ink-dark sky.

Hiding and waiting had worked up until this point, but there must be blood in the finale. My fingers tighten shakily around the knife, eyes wide. I'm no Career – I don't know how to fight.

I suppose I'll have to learn quickly.

Back in the Capitol, my trainers tried to teach me. They said that I had potential. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the storm and remember their words. _You're too timid, _they would say. _Widen your stance. Hold your ground. Aim to k-_ A sharp pang shoots through me, and I can't continue the thought.

The tribute in front of me is male, sixteen or seventeen years old. Unlike most Careers, he's tall with willowy limbs and an uncertain posture. In the rain and darkness it's nearly impossible to make out his expression.

A wave slams against the rock, knocking us both off balance.

_Widen your stance._

"We can't stand here forever!" His voice is barely audible over the howling winds. "We'll drown!" I don't miss the message beneath his words. _If we don't fight, the Gamemakers will finish things for us._

I know that's my cue to attack – to launch forward and enter the final battle. But something within me rears back at the idea, and though my feet slide farther apart on the rock I make no move toward him. Through the blur of the rain I think I see him frown. He was hoping I would instigate – perhaps he and I are not so different. Neither of us wants to fight without some kind of justification.

"It'll be over soon," he shouts, as if it's supposed to comfort me. "One way or another."

"I'd prefer I end it my way," I call back. "Things to do, people to see."

His eyes flash. "You think I don't have a family to return to?"

All sense of logical thought has left me. I'm going wherever my mouth takes me, as if I'm in some kind of dramatic movie. "I'm sure you do. But the thing is, they don't mean anything to me."

"My baby sister," even shouting, his voice is deadly calm. "My little brother. They mean nothing?"

I can practically feel the eyes of Panem on me, waiting for some kind of response. Some brilliantly thought out reply, a line that will make history. I shrug, shaking my head slightly. "I'm sorry," is all that I can come up with.

Lightning cracks open the sky, and for the first time I get a clear glimpse of his face. Scarred like a Careers, but there is something in his hesitation that makes me wonder if he truly was born a killer like they say Careers have to be. "You will be."

_Hold your ground._

He launches himself at me. My immediate instinct is to back away, but behind me the angry waves hungrily await. I cringe instead, holding up my blade to protect my more essential parts – throat, face, stomach. His own knife comes into contact with mine, and just as the sound of metal on metal pierces the air thunder claps. A perfectly orchestrated battle. The Capitol must have their finale.

Digging my heels into the ground, I try to find purchase upon the slippery surface and shove back with all my might. I'm smaller compared to him, but I somehow manage to force him back a few steps. He steadies and stares me down for a moment longer.

"It's scary, isn't it?" he shouts. "What they do to us?"

Any viewer would think he means the Games, but I know what truly lies behind his words. He's talking about the Capitol.

"Terrifying," I agree. "But we can only give into it now. There's no salvation."

He comes at me again and again, miraculously, I hold him off. This time when he stumbles back he slips, falling hard on his back. I think I hear something crack, and he shouts out in pain. Now is my opportunity, practically handed to me on a silver platter. He must know it, too, for he raises his head to squint at me.

_Aim to k- Aim to k- Aim to k-_

"What do you have to go back to, anyway?" his voice will not be caught by the cameras, but I hear.

_Home, friends, family. _My eyes widen.

_Aim to k-_

_I __**can't.**_

The wave comes out of nowhere. One moment I am faltering before him, trembling uncontrollably, and the next I'm drowning. There is water above me, beneath me, to my left and to my right. The silence is deafening after the constant shrieking of the storm, and the saltwater stings my eyes. My lungs burn for air, limbs flailing against the currents that whip me around like a pathetic rag doll, but it's no use. I'm falling, sinking, fading...

Someone grabs around my waist. It's him. He's come to finish me off. This new realization causes one last burst of adrenaline to shoot through me, and I squirm against his grip. But then there are more arms, grabbing under my arms, pushing me up from under, and there's a ladder, and then suddenly I can breathe again and I'm rising up above the storm, into the safe confinements of a hovercraft.

I'm no longer squirming, but I'm too weak to walk on my own, and the Capitolites who grabbed me have to carry me to the sterile bed in the corner.

"Wait!" I gasp out. "The other boy – he's still out there!"

"No." A woman, middle-aged, spares me a glance from behind thick glasses. "He isn't. He couldn't swim, love. You've won."

"But... but..." I've gone numb. "But we didn't fight. That's not fair."

"The Games aren't meant to be fair," she says, laughing, as if this is an obvious fact and I'm stupid to have overlooked it. "Congratulations, by the way. You've made history – you're the first tribute to make it out of the Arena without killing anyone."

And suddenly it all makes sense. The Gamemakers did this – they'll want to advertise me as the innocent one, the lucky little girl who just barely survived. I'll be famous. I'll be amazing. I'll be all anyone talks about for years to come.

But none of it will be true.

Without even realizing it, I aimed to kill.


End file.
